


A Night at the Theatre

by FromJupiterToMercury



Category: Queen (Band), Rock Music RPF
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-13
Updated: 2020-05-23
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:40:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 15,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24165280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FromJupiterToMercury/pseuds/FromJupiterToMercury
Summary: A certain group called Queen have already recorded three albums, but due to disagreements with the guy, they had to get separated from their bassist. Seeing a little announce in the newspaper, you decide to take your chance. You directly get on with the lead singer and the guitarist, but things get quite heated with some Roger Taylor…Side note: AU where John Deacon doesn’t exist. Sorry for his stans lmaooDouble side note: can be read with the Boh-Rap cast. There are some references to the movie.
Relationships: Roger Taylor (Queen)/Reader
Kudos: 27





	1. Chapter 1

_22 nd of August 1975_

You eyed the piece of newspaper one last time and glanced at the building in front of you, tugging at the strip of your bass case.

_Yep. Right address._

You pushed the doors of the empty theatre. The hall was empty, the sound of your steps resonated between the marble walls. The announce informed the audition took place in the main room, so you lost no time heading towards the main doors and pushed them with both of your hands.

You scoffed under the weight and glanced at the room; at least twenty meters of empty velvet seats separated you from the stage, thus the guys.

You observed them some seconds when the man who was currently talking stopped when he saw you. The one who was back at you turned when he heard the door: he escaped the row he was in and went into the ally, arms opened. “Hello darling! I suppose you’re y/n!”

You scoffed, but the little stress you were feeling from now vanished as he put you at ease. You walked to him and extended your hand to shake it, but he took you in his arms and greeted you briefly. He let you go and turned. “So, let me quickly introduce you to the others before we start.” He took a serious tone, but kept his ongoing attitude. “First of all, your host here.” He put a hand on his chest. “I’m Freddie. Freddie Mercury.” You nodded.

You knew who he was; since their last album had had his little success with the title _Killer Queen_ , you had started following their appearances on the television, and him being the lead singer of the band, he was always introduced.

Freddie went next to you and put a hand at your back. He lifted his hand toward the first guy; it was a tall, slender man with long curly hair. He had tight black pants and platform shoes, that added to his already big size. “This is Brian May, our guitarist.” Brian got up from the backseat he was leaning against, waved at you and smiled; he seemed really nice, and you smiled back.

He moved his hand towards the second guy, next to Brian: “And this is Roger Taylor, our drummer.” You shifted your gaze to him, and he cocked an eyebrow. He scanned you, from your face to your feet, then back to your face. He moved a long blond lock from the side of his face and kept his rather closed expression. It felt like he was wondering what you were doing here and nearly made you feel out of place; he radiates the complete opposite energy that the two other musicians gave you.

You noticed Brian lightly nudge at him. At your side, Freddie threw him a look but you didn’t see him due to your position. He didn’t move but – very – slightly bowed his head.

Freddie removed his hand from your upper back and clapped: “Right children. y/n, just go on the stage and do what you want. The amps are there.” You nodded and climbed on the stage.

You put your case on the ground and unbuckled it; in the background, you heard heated whispers. You assumed they were bickering about something external to you and didn’t pay attention as you plugged your guitar to the amplifiers.

Once done, you cleared your throat and they stopped their interactions. Brian smiled kindly to you: “Whenever you want.”

At his side, Roger rolled his eyes and crossed his arms on his chest.

You took out your mediator and started jamming, not really following a particular path, where auditioners usually chose songs to perform.

Further, Brian whispered things in Freddie’s ear, this one nodding. He then glanced at Roger, who started talking with him too. You didn’t pay attention to them, as you were still playing, waiting for them to stop you when they would feel it.

You played again for some time when Freddie came to the stage and knocked on the wooden floor; it took you out of your playing and you stopped. “I think we heard enough dear, thank you so much.”

He was smiling kindly to you, but you didn’t know if it meant anything. Brian came next to Freddie; “y/n, you play very well, I must tell you.”

You huffed and bit your lip; you felt your cheeks heat a bit. “Thank you, that’s very kind of you.” Freddie resumed: “Do you mind coming tomorrow morning to play with us? It would be great to see if we match together, you know.” You nodded. You were excited, but once again, it didn’t mean you were in. Further away, Roger shot his bandmate at the back of his head with his gaze at his proposition, as he hadn’t been informed of it. Freddie took a step back and grabbed a piece of paper to scratch something on it and you took the opportunity to pack your stuff.

You went down the estrade. Freddie went to you and handed you the paper: “This is Brian’s address, his father is kind enough to let us the garage to play.” You nodded as you read it; it wasn’t far from your home, you could go there by feet. Brian added: “Come at eleven, right?” You nodded once again. “Eleven in the morning, of course.”

At the back, Roger huffed.

“Right, I will be there on time, you can count on me. See you tomorrow!”

You smiled at the three of them, got of wave from Freddie, a smile from Brian and another scan of your whole form from Roger as you ascended the theatre and pushed the heavy doors.

As soon as you left, Freddie and Brian turned to Roger, pissed and surprised looks on their faces. Brian opened his mouth but Freddie was quicker: “Are you fucking serious Roger? Can I know what happened in your head?”

He huffed and looked everywhere but at Freddie, doing as he didn’t see what he was talking about but betrayed himself. Brian carried on: “We’re lucky she didn’t leave when you laid your eyes on her, Rog. What’s the matter?”

The guitarist didn’t understand his friend’s attitude; yes it was the fifth audition they had of the day, it was kinda tiring, but he had been nice with the guy the auditioned right before – even if he was more than mediocre.

The blond couldn’t resist to the pressure and let out: “We’re not a damn women institute!” He had talked with a fit of disproportionate anger, fists clenched at his sides. Freddie couldn’t help but laugh at his dramatic response and Brian gasped: “Do you say that because she is a woman?”

Freddie mechanically put a hand in front of his mouth as he laughed and added: “Our little Roger is afraid for his virility? Don’t worry Rog, you’re not going to lose your dick in your sleep because a woman will potentially join our band.”

Roger was fuming, but wanted to change the subject. They had been auditioning people since the beginning of the summer, but no one fitted. Either guys coming to audition weren’t good enough, or it didn’t match with their style.

Or Freddie didn’t like them.

Time was pressing though: they will be soon recording their album, and okay it was possible to add the bassline on the tracks after if they didn’t find a bassist to come in the studio with them, but… Well, in nearly two months, they hadn’t found anybody; why would it change now?

He shook his head. “Anybody down for a pint?”

Freddie and Brian exchanged a look. The singer said: “Sure. It was the last audition of the day, so…”

Brian checked his watch: “And we had to give back the keys of the theatre an hour ago.”


	2. Chapter 2

_23 rd of August 1975_

You pushed the little fence and went up the ally. The hot sun of August was hitting hard at the nearly hottest hour of the day, and the skin of your shoulder was damp below the plastic of your case’s strap.

You rang the bell and waited; ten seconds later, a quite old man opened. You cleared your throat: “Hi, I come for Brian, I’m-”

He hummed and cut you: “Right, come in, young lady.” He was gentle and kind with you, but you noticed he judged you from the corner of his eyes and looked like he wasn’t very pleased with your presence. He went at the end of the stairs and shouted Brian’s name. You heard a door and steps, then saw his form coming down. He thanked his dad who soon left the hall after wishing you a good day and Brian greeted you. “How are you, y/n? Already there?”

You puffed: “Already?” You eyed your watch. “It’s 11:03am.” He took a breath: “Oh, yeah, punctuality is something you’ll have to deal with if you work with us.”

He led you further in the house. “This is how it works: if we have a meeting somewhere, at five pm, let’s say, we tell Freddie and Rog the appointment is at four, to hope they will be there at six.” You shrugged. “Oh, I see. You mean I could have slept this morning and come two hours later?” You had said that humorously, but he took a concerned face: “Well, I’m very sorry y/n, I should have contacted you or-”

You laughed: “Don’t apologize.” Of course you would have preferred to sleep later, as you had a waitress job and worked late, but it was fine. You passed in front of the living room, where Brian’s dad, as you assumed he was, was watching the television. You quickly glanced at him as you entered the kitchen, and Brian noticed it. He said, on a lower tone: “Has he been nice to you?”

You nodded: “Yes! Yes, just… I felt like he would have preferred I didn’t bother him to come and open to me.”

Brian huffed: “You can be reassured, it has nothing to see with you.” He took a teacup in the drawer and put the water to boil. “It is with… All of that, you know. The band and all.” You hummed. “Yeah, I think I see what you’re talking about.”

“It’s not that he doesn’t support my passion for music and all, but, let’s say he would have preferred if I had carried on on a more traditional path.” He made tea for both of you and handed you your cup. “Thank you. What were you doing as a job before all of that?”

“Hmm. Writing a thesis to pass my doctorate in astrophysics.”

You nearly spat out your tea. “Jesus. That’s quite serious.” He hummed. “And you’re fine with leaving all of that behind? I mean, it’s huge.”

“Well, to be honest, it’s more Rog and Freddie who kinda dragged me into this. I’m a hundred percent with them, but they got the impulse.”

You winced at Roger’s name, remembering his cold attitude with you the day before. Brian read through you: “Hey, don’t worry about Rog. He can be a total prick sometimes, but he’s someone we can rely on.”

You hummed. “It’s just… Well, I don’t want to sound too sure of myself, right. But if I get to work with you, it risks to be… heated.” You didn’t show that the day before, but you were the kind of person to fight back if you felt attacked; and when Roger scanned you in the theatre, you had taken a lot upon you not to say anything. Brian nodded, getting it.

-

“y/n, that was great!”

You smiled a bit your lip shyly as Brian congratulated you.

The bell of the nearest church had just rung midday and both of you were jamming, you on your bass and Brian on his Red Special, that he had spent twenty minutes introducing to you and explaining in detail how he and his father had made it.

“Really, that was good. It’s great we found you.”

“Hey, wait. I’m not in the band… yet.” You raised a finger and he laughed as the door of the garage opened on two people.

“y/n! How are you?”

Freddie headed towards you, arms opened, and you got up to hug him. Roger quickly nodded to you and lost no time installing himself behind the drumkit, barely addressing a hello to Brian either.

The singer didn’t pay attention to that and said: “We’re going to play one of our new songs, that we will record for the new album. We haven’t written any bassline yet, so let your inspiration go.” He gave you an encouraging wink and grabbed a mic further.

You smiled as you all started to play, but the sweet atmosphere didn’t last long.

You heard an angry sharp hit on a cymbal behind you, and Freddie stopped. He took a breath to not get things worse that soon and cleared his throat, looking at Roger.

“Yes?”

“It’s not good.”

“Can we know what’s not good, Roger?”

“Me.”

The three of them turned to you as you talked. “Me, I guess. That’s it, Roger?”

He pouted as he was brought in front of his actions, but it just looked like he confessed. Freddie rolled his eyes: “Nothing’s wrong with the way she plays, Rog…”

You huffed and put your hands on your hips, the head of your bass pointing to the ground under its weight. “I don’t think it’s linked to the way I played, innit? It’s _me_. My being.” You looked at Freddie: “Honestly, I could play like Paul McCartney and he would bitch about it either.”

Roger stood and turned around the kit, coming in front of you.

“I’m not saying you don’t play well, y/n, just… You don’t fit.”

You cocked an eyebrow and Freddie rolled his eyes in the background, throwing a look at Brian. “Oh yeah? Then what am I doing here? Hm?”

The drummer waited a bit before answering, not wanting to involve his friends into his argumentation even though it was quite hard not to. “You’re here for a try. We didn’t make you sign any papers, if I do remember well.”

You gulped. _Okay, fair point_.

In front of your lack of immediate answer, he grinned, proud of himself. But that made you want to rip this attitude off him.

“I’m sorry, but who wrote this song?”

He answered through greeted teeth: “Fred.”

You gave him an understood gaze and looked at Freddie, this one seeming to enjoy the show in front of him. You spoke: “Freddie, do you have a problem with the bassline I thought would suit the song?”

He shook his head no, afraid to open his mouth and explode.

You looked back at Roger, who just let a “Of course you’re not.” whispered. “Roger, I think you can go back banging your tambourines up there.”

He scoffed: “You don’t talk to me like than y/l/n, or I swear I-”

“You know where you can put your drumsticks, Taylor?”

“Are you joking? I-”

“Stop!”

Both of you just noticed you had stepped towards each other during your _speeches_ and quickly jumped away from each other like you had the plague. Freddie clapped in his hands and headed to you: “Sorry to interrupt you, but I had to make this sexual tension between both of you vanish or you would just have exploded.”

You opened your mouth, cheeks getting red and Roger looked at his feet, hiding his face.

He took you by the shoulders, turned you to him and hugged you tight. You huffed to the sudden action and Roger lifted his head. The singer broke apart and looked at you in the eyes.

“Honey, have you ever been to Wales?”

Roger looked at him and frowned. Brian lifted his head.

You looked at him expectantly. “I… Guess.” You didn’t dare to jump on any conclusion, but the sides of your mouth tickled, making your earlier shame run away. Freddie resumed: “Rockfield, to be more precise.”

He passed his arm around your shoulders: “Gentleman and gentleman. Here is our new bassist.”


	3. Chapter 3

Roger was the first to open the door and it felt like you finally breathed: you had spent three hours tucked between Brian and him at the back of the car.

Paul Prenter, the band’s assistant – but more Freddie’s than anything –, was driving and passed grab all of you at your houses. As Brian was the tallest of you all, he had opened the front door; Paul lost no time to spat out: “Hmm, Brian, I think Freddie would prefer to go at the front.”

Brian blinked and Roger, already there, had answered: “Of course he would. Everyone would prefer to be at the front of that fucking car.”

And that’s how you had to shift and go at the middle place of the backseat as Brian complied, preferring not making a fuss.

The ride between Brian’s house and Freddie’s happened in a heavy silence, where Roger hid himself behind his sunglasses and Brian and you didn’t dare to say anything; well, nearly complete silence as from time to time Roger asked you to stop bumping into him. “Roger, I do not control the holes in the road for fuck’s sake.”

“Just try not to mo-”

“Can you please shut your mouth?”

Paul was looking at both of you in the mirror, hell in his eyes.

Roger pouted and you held his gaze till he had to look back at the road.

It has been ten minutes you had met him, and you already had a strange feeling about his whole being.

His attitude vanished as soon as Freddie climbed in the car; you swore you could have believed it was another man than two seconds ago. He was all smile and lost no time asking him if he slept well, had a great breakfast, not forgotten anything…

You cocked an eyebrow and looked at Brian; this one made gave you a “I’ll tell you” look.

You spent the next three hours being yelled at by Roger for barely touching him, yelling back at him for yelling at you, talking with Brian but most of all listen to Paul talking to Freddie like he was God on earth.

“Shit!”

You followed the blond when he got out and looked at him: he had just walked into a mud puddle, dirtying his white boots. You laughed and he turned to you, shooting you with his eyes.

Paul quickly got out to take the suitcases in the trunk, followed by Brian to help him. Freddie huffed and removed his sunglasses as he glanced at the property: “I had been told it was a farm, but lord… It really _is_ a farm.”

You lifted your face and went next to him; indeed. From where you were, all you saw was a farm standing in the middle of fields out of sight. If you didn’t know it was studios, nothing could have told you so. A small barn was further, cows grazing here and there and chicken wandering a bit everywhere.

Paul cleared his throat: “The owners are on holiday, we’ll be untroubled. Just us.” He quickly glanced at Freddie saying that, and you cringed. _Did he think he was a member of the band, or…?_

He took Freddie’s suitcase and started to walk towards the propriety. The rest of you took yours and followed him, observing the surroundings as you were walking, Roger casually swearing as he still didn’t pay attention where he put his feet.

The door led to a living room, opened on the kitchen. There weren’t any dining room, just a table there.

Paul crossed it and motioned you to follow him upstairs. The rustic steps squealed below your feet, seeming to have a hard time supporting your five weights. When you all arrived up safe and sound, you eyed the four doors.

_…_

_Four?_

Lord, don’t say there won’t be any bathroom… You sighed internally, thinking as you didn’t notice any other stairs leading down or whatever.

Paul opened the first door; he entered and you all passed your head by it. As he put Freddie’s suitcase on the floor, you guessed who would go there. The least you could say is that it was small. There was a single person bed, a nightstand with a telephone and a wardrobe, leaving not a lot of room for anything else. Freddie entered and put his hands on his hips, gauging the room. He hummed. Paul added: “The king’s room!” Roger rolled his eyes and you huffed. Wait, if _that_ was the king’s room…

You got more and more nervous about the rest.

Paul tapped Fred’s shoulders and got out, passing between you and went next door. “Brian…” The guitarist gulped as he was about to pass a speaking exam, Roger and you following him, curious as Freddie had stayed in his room to unpack.

The second room was even smaller than the first; the nightstand was tucked between the wall and the one-person bed. A bar was hung at the wall, two hangers dangling on it. Brian entered and put his suitcase on the bed, as seen that he and Paul were standing in it, there wasn’t room anymore or almost to put it on the ground. He blinked. “Well, thanks…”

Paul faked a smile and got out.

Two more doors.

Brian joined you back, curious.

The assistant opened the third door. The room was even smaller, but contradictorily there was a double bed tucked in the corner of the room, no nightstand as there wasn’t any place for it. A little dresser was against the wall, leaving the room for one man to stand between it and the bed. Paul didn’t even enter, pushing Roger and his suitcase inside. He entered, and literally filled the room. You gulped. What the hell will your room look like?

Paul clapped in his hands and the three of you looked at him. He pointed the last door: “And here is the bathroom.” He huffed and smiled – and you hated it: “Don’t worry, the shower is a bit rustic but there is hot water.”

And silence fell.

Roger was standing at the doorstep, Brian – whose gaze shifted from you to Paul and opposite – and you in the corridor, facing Paul. Freddie had come out, looking at the scene from a bit further. Some seconds passed where everyone was thinking the same but no one dared to open it.

You took a breath. “Paul.”

As he looked at you, you reckoned it was the second time he did it and the first you talked to him. You cleared your throat, as what you were about to say was extremely difficult to formulate.

But in fact, it was very simple.

“Paul. Can I know where my room is?”

He clapped his hand on his forehead, as he suddenly remembered your existence. “Oh, y/n, I’m very sorry.”

He was, in fact, not sorry at all and didn’t even feign to act as he was.

“There are only three rooms here. But don’t worry, I’m sure the couch is very comfortable.” He put his hands on his chest. “Look, personally, I’m going to sleep in the car! I took blankets, pillows…”

He had a proud expression, and you were very close to punch him in the face. Brian scoffed: “Paul! No way y/n is going to sleep in the dirty couch!”

You said through greeted teeth and planted yourself in front of him: “You know you wouldn’t even lay your fucking ass in that damn couch, Paul.”

Freddie huffed as he was watching a wrestling match and came closer. “I see a solution where no one will sleep on the couch, my loves.”

The four of you looked at him. “Roger has a double-bed.” His gaze went on you and you opened wide eyes. He grinned.

“No way!”

Both Roger and you had screamed that at the same time. You gulped. Sharing a room with any of the boys put you a bit unease in general, as you didn’t even know them for a week, but Roger?

He hated you.

And you hated him.

And you weren’t going to share the car with Paul.

You hated it, but sleeping on the couch took more and more room in your mind.

Brian spoke: “y/n, take my room. I’m going to sleep on the couch.” He threw a judgmental look at Paul. You raised your hand: “No. I’ll sleep there.” He opened his mouth but you cocked an eyebrow and he stopped. You just wanted to end this conversation, and eventually talk about it later.

Freddie seized your feeling and said: “So. We eat or what? I know Paul took the necessary to cook.”

_Oh, because he’ll cook for you?_

Brian, Roger and you nodded, silently hoping he won’t try to poison you.


	4. Chapter 4

Metallic noises and food smell woke you up.

You stirred and yawned; your sleep had been chaotic and not good. At all. You didn’t manage to fall asleep, the springs of the couch penetrating your body and what you ate turning in your stomach. When you finally fell asleep as your body gave in, weird dreams and the uncomfortably of what you were sleeping on disturbed your night.

You got up and scratched your back. God, you were lucky if you wouldn’t end up with a wrinkled muscle by the end of the journey.

“ _I’m in Love With My Car_? Are- Are you serious Roger?”

Brian was sat at the table of the kitchen, a cup of tea in front of him and a sheet of paper in his hand. He quickly nodded to you as you sat next to him and looked back at Roger, who was busy making bacon above the hob.

He said, not turning to him: “It’s always like that anyway. Both of your writings are perfect, always good, but me, eh…” He didn’t finish his sentence and pestered under his breath, swallowed by the noise of the meat frying in the pan.

You cocked an eyebrow to Brian; he looked at you and rolled his eyes. His gaze went back on the paper; “ _With my hand on your grease gun_. Nice, very subtle.”

Roger turned and threatened him with the spatula: “It’s a metaphor, Brian!”

He quickly glanced at you as he acknowledged your presence, but didn’t say hi. You took the sheet from Brian’s hands and eyed it. “What is it?” He shrugged and turned back to his bacon. “A song I wrote for the album.”

You took a minute to read the lyrics and put a hand on your mouth. Brian bit his lip at your side. You scoffed: “It’s just… weird Roger.” You cocked an eyebrow and glanced at the lyrics once again. “What exactly are you doing to that car?”

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. As it wasn’t enough, Brian added: “It’s very poor lyrically speaking. It will look _weird_ next to the other songs…”

All at once, Roger took the bacon with the spatula and catapulted what was on it on Brian. The guitarist was caught off guard and huffed as he rose his hands – too late – to protect himself. You laughed and took the plate that was in front of him to protect you if ever, and grabbed a toast that was hanging there to throw it at Roger. He huffed as he wasn’t expecting that, and grabbed a slice of cheese that soon ended up stuck on your shoulder. “Bitch!”

You eyed something to throw and saw him laugh looking at where the cheese landed.

 _Laugh?_ Did he just laugh with you?

He grabbed the rest of the bacon to throw it at Brian and this one huffed: “S-Stop! Rog for God’s sake, I’m a vegetarian!”

You laughed even more but both Brian and you stopped as you saw Roger grab a quite huger missile; “No!” You both screamed at the same time.

“Not the coffee machine!”

He stopped in his track, the machine in his hands above his head, the wire dangling at his side.

Freddie burst in the room at that particular moment and eyed you all, hand on his hips. “What the hell is going on here?”

He looked at the piece of cheese on your shoulder and bacon in Brian’s hair. He swiped his hand in the air: “Anyway, I don’t care.”

He headed toward you and put his arm on your shoulder; “Today we have to record _Bohemian Rhapsody_ for the LP, that will potentially come out one day.” He looked at you, gauging your questioning look. “Oh, yeah. We chose a song I wrote for the LP.”

“Freddie’s thing.”

Freddie huffed at what Roger had said. You cocked an eyebrow and glanced at the singer. “You mean, _Freddie’s thing_ is the title?”

He laughed: “No, no. It’s just… When I explain to them what I want for the song, let’s say they don’t really get it.”

You hummed. “And we have to record it as soon as possible?”

“Let’s say two days. I want to have it sent as soon as possible.”

The two other musicians huffed. You didn’t get their reactions; “Right. I mean, if we work all day long, it should be good, no?”

Recording the instrumental part.

Recording the voices.

Backing vocals if ever.

It was largely doable in two days.

Roger and Brian exchanged a look, and Freddie passed an arm around your shoulders. He laughed loudly and said: “What about we discover this barn, darlings?”

-

Freddie pushed a button on the mixing table and spoke through the mic: “Alright Brian.” On the other side of the window, Brian stopped playing, lifted his head and looked at him, the headphones on his head making his hair look weird.

“It was perfect, Bri.”

Roger huffed: “Finally.”

It was the fifth time he made him do it again, both of them not agreeing on the solo, but it finally came to an end.

You spent the whole morning and the start of the afternoon recording the rhythm section and Freddie’s part at the piano, and the atmosphere took a special tint. When Freddie had laid his fingers on the keyboard and started to sing, the three of you exchanged a look – and Roger looked away right away as he crossed your gaze, _of course_.

When he came back in the recording booth, you just looked at him mouth opened. “Fred, that was… wow. I get why it has to come out as an LP.”

He came towards you and put his hand on your shoulder: “And you haven’t seen the best part yet. But first, let’s record Brian.”

The guitarist had got up and leave his place to Freddie in front of the mixing table.

The excitement you had felt after Freddie’s performance had rather quickly let place to annoyance, after hearing Brian play the bit for the tenth time; after the twentieth, you weren’t even listening, just hearing Freddie saying it wasn’t what he wanted and the muffled sound of Brian answering through the mic. You had even closed your eyes and felt yourself fall, when…

“Ouch!”

A plane made of paper landed on your forehead, Roger bearing a mischievous grin on his face. You were showing him your middle finger when Freddie told Brian it was _finally_ good.

Brian took off his headphones and came back with you. He checked his watch: “Seven pm, we eat or what?”

You nodded; the last time you had eaten was this morning.

The lot of you got out and joined the house. You tapped Freddie’s shoulder before climbing the stairs: “I’m going to take a shower while Paul cooks.”

He winked at you and you separated the group.

The hot water on your shoulders soothed you, and you swore that if you weren’t hungry, you would have fallen asleep standing there in the shower.

The sound of water on the porcelain of the bath prevented you to hear the feud that was currently going on a floor below you.

When you got out of the bathroom, you were watching your feet and nearly bumped into Paul. He lost no time spitting out: “What are you doing there?”

You looked at him and pointed your damp hair and your day clothes on your arm.

“I don’t know, Paul. What do people usually do in bathrooms?” You saw his jaw clench and passed next to him. You could have asked him what he was doing there too, as he hadn’t a room upstairs, but the less you interacted with him, the better you felt.

Once downstairs, you threw your clothes on the couch and… stopped. You frowned.

Brian was leaning against the dining table and Freddie was standing, arm crossed on his chest, looking pissed. Both were looking at the cupboard, where the brooms laid.

You joined them, your eyes going from the guys to the cabinet. You cleared your throat: “Are you… in a contemplation?”

Brian sighed deeply, but Freddie answered: “Well, we were talking about my song going out in LP.” You hummed. Legit; the song was great, certainly the best of the album, now that you had heard a major part. “I brought the subject of the B side.” You nodded again.

Both exchanged a look, and Brian carried on: “Roger said it would be good to put his song on the B side. You know, the one about cars.”

You shrugged, guessing how Freddie and Brian reacted, but didn’t get why this led to them throwing threatening looks at the door.

“We said no. He insisted. We said no again. He said he wouldn’t go out before we agreed.”

You looked at Freddie for some seconds before finally understanding. You rolled your eyes: “You’ve got to be kidding.”

“I’d like to.”

“Shut up y/n!”

You turned at Roger’s muffled voice by the door and tapped frantically on it, making him yell in high-pitched sounds.

“Be glad we’re good enough to record the song, Taylor.”

“You’ve got nothing to say, you haven’t written a proper song yet!”

You gave a hard tap to accompany your answer: “That’s right Roger, _yet_.”

Freddie said: “There is no way you’re going to make a shit ton of money with my number one-to-be song, Roger.”

The drummer opened the door with his foot in a squealing noise, nearly in your face: he was sat against the back wall, looking angry. You huffed; he looked more ridiculous than threatening, and even more when he shot you with his eyes at your reaction.

He looked back at Fred: “When will you all understand it’s a song I’ve written for a friend who loves automobiles? It’s a song about friendship, passion, and-”

It was too much for you; you exploded laughing, soon joined by Freddie, Brian having a hard time holding it back.

Roger, on the other hand, was boiling; his pale skin took a red tint, and smoke would be escaping his ears if we were in a cartoon.

He got up, stepped over the cupboard and planted himself in front of you. His fists were clenched, eyebrows furrowed in rage, his big blue eyes darted in yours.

Brian swallowed his laugh and breathed and Freddie was grinning at the drama, delighted.

“Can I know what you know about that?”

You rolled your eyes, not impressed. “Are you questioning my place in the band _again_? It’s starting to get redundant, Roger. I-”

He cut you, his lips curling in a dangerous smirk: “No, not that.”

He got even closer to you, but you didn’t flinch. He breathed at the smell of your shampoo and got lost some seconds, as it was the first time you were so damn close, but soon recovered: “Not that. Friendship.”

You squinted.

“I mean, y/n… The three of us, we’re friends.”

In the background, Brian’s eyes were widening and Freddie didn’t find it that amusing anymore, standing straighter.

“But you? We know you for some days only, we don’t even know if we can trust you. So I think you don’t have anyth-”

You slapped him.

Hard.

The sound of your hand on his cheek echoed, his blond hair flying in the air as his face turned on the side under the movement. Brian stood and went to take a step, but Freddie put his hand on his chest, stopping him.

Roger took some seconds before facing you again.

The colour of anger had left to let place to the white colour of realisation. _And maybe guilt?_

You eyed him, taking those seconds to realise what you did too, as the gesture was more the matter of a reflex than a thought action.

He passed his fingertips on his cheek, the skin starting to sting as he hadn’t felt anything on the moment under the surprise.

He didn’t dare to speak first, so you did, not expecting him to apologize anyway: “Roger. Whether you like it or not, I’m in that band. I have as much to say as you.”

Behind, Freddie nodded for encouragement.

You opened your mouth to add when you heard Paul in the stairs. You turned as he arrived in the room, eying the four of you.

The scene was kinda weird: Roger had his hand slammed on his cheek, eyes glassy, Brian looking like he couldn’t handle what had happened and Freddie’s hand still on his torso.

The assistant cleared his throat: “I… I got the producer on the phone.”

You mentally noted that he was going to use the phone in Freddie’s room when you met him upstairs.

“After tomorrow he found us an event to perform at. In a theatre not far from here, there is room for us to play three or four songs. He thinks it could be good to see how the crowd react.”

Freddie broke the silence: “Right. It’s good. Good.”

He sought Brian’s gaze for support and this one nodded.

Roger didn’t move, looking in the vague.

You hummed and smiled at Paul. “Don’t cook for me today. I’m going…”

You didn’t finish your answer as you went out of the farm, leaving the mess behind you.


	5. Chapter 5

You were sitting at the table of the kitchen, a fuming cup of tea in front of you. You had a sheet of paper below your eyes, scratching some lyrics on it.

You had woken up early today, your empty stomach being capricious.

After the fight the day before, you had escaped in the barn. You weren’t even mad at Roger; what he said was worth of a child and didn’t even hurt you, your slap targeted to make him stop rambling more than anything else.

But it worked your mind a bit, as you were new in the band, still insecure as yes, you didn’t know the guys, and your feud with Roger clouding your potential future with them. Were you going to fight forever? Insult yourselves by interposed interviews?

Record in different rooms?

It was not really a long-term attitude, that was sure.

Your questionings had left your mind when Brian came to check on you at a moment during the evening. He reassured you enough, but you didn’t want to see Roger’s face – nor Paul’s – today, and decided to sleep on the couch in the booth.

To your delight, it was a bit more comfortable than the one inside the house, but the barn was badly isolated, and despite being in August, it was cold there in the middle of the night.

Behind you, you heard steps and people talking, what brought you back. “y/n dear? I’m going to grab two or three things for dinner this evening. Paul’s sleeping in the car and, you know, we jump on the opportunity.”

You shrugged and didn’t turn back as you threw an “Alright!” to Freddie.

The door closed and you carried on, a sudden wave of inspiration taking you.

You didn’t know how much time passed, but you had scratched nearly a whole sheet when you heard steps behind you. You took a pissed look and turned as you readied yourself to see Paul; it wasn’t, but your pissed expression was still of circumstance: “Roger? You’re not with Freddie?”

He huffed and went to the sink to pass his fingers with blisters under the water. “No, he just went with Brian.” He winced a bit as the cold stream touched his swollen skin; you guessed he was playing, as his chest was rising and falling heavily. He was breathing mouth opened, a bit flust-

You hummed and went back on your paper. The silence fell back. Till the day before, the silence between both of you was tensed; now, it was awkward due to yesterday.

You didn’t know what you preferred.

You were slowly diving back into your writings when a hand landed flat on it, making you jump. You lifted your face.

“What is it?”

“I don’t know, Roger. What do you think? A grocery list, as we’re here for that.”

He gave you a middle finger and you grinned. You wanted to forget yesterday’s row more than confronting it to him, but that didn’t mean the white flag had been raised. You tried to push him away, but he took your sheet and got back, reading it.

_The white flag hadn’t been risen by him either, apparently._

You got up, not liking your unfinished work to be on display like that.

“Roger, give me that.”

He took a step to the side: “It’s a song!”

You extended your arm to try to grab it: “You’re so clever Taylor, I’m blown away. Give me that now.”

He raised his arm higher to prevent you to grab it. You swore and carried on, desperately agitating your arms in the air.

He mocked: “ _Happy at home_? What is that?” You got back a bit out of breath, acknowledging you wouldn’t be able to get it. “ _You’re my sunshine_? Oh my god y/n, it’s so rubbish.” He puffed, and your cheeks started to become red out of anger and shame. He carried on rambling on your lyrics when you eyed around you: you quickly grabbed the sponge on the counter and threw it at him. It was still wet from when one of you made the dishes, leaving a damp rectangle on his cheek. He opened his mouth wide of surprise.

“It’s you who tells me that?”

He cocked an eyebrow.

“You write a song about putting your dick in an exhaust pipe and I write a song about my best friend, for me there is no doubt mine is bett-”

He moved so fast you didn’t see it as he grabbed the first thing that came under his hand to throw at you; you moved to the side quick enough to avoid it though, and the paper bag full of flavour crashed on the wall, drawing a write halo of powder on the blue paint.

You gasped and took the cloth to wipe the dishes; it was still wet too as you turned it on itself to make a sort of whip. He opened wide eyes: “y/n don’t- No- No!”

You grinned and started to run after him in the kitchen, ending turning around the table.

After two tours you suddenly turned on your feet to trap him; he jumped but didn’t move soon enough as you clapped the cloth on his thigh in a loud noise.

“Bitch!”

Both of you stopped in your tracks, somewhere between pissed by what the other did and said, and amused despite your resent for the other.

A meter separated you and you were a bit out of breath, planning what you would do next or what you would do when the other will attack when-

All of a sudden, he closed the gap between you, grabbed your face and kissed you. Your eyes stayed open in shock. But his lips were soft, and you could taste the bitter taste of alcohol on it even if it was just lips against lips-

Your first reaction was to grab him by the collar of his open shirt and push him hard against the wall behind him, right in the flavour, making some powder fall down.

He let out a huff of surprise as his back hit the surface and looked at you with wide eyes, already thinking of what to say to explain his gesture.

You eyed him.

His chest was rising and falling quicker than usual, his necklaces shining under the light. His hair was messy – well, as usual – and some baby hair was sticking on his forehead due to the heat. His huge blue eyes were studying you as much as you were studying him, and his mouth was slightly opened. As you spent some seconds on his lips, he felt exposed and humidified them with the tip of his tongue. He raised a hand at a moment, but let it fall back at his side, not daring to make the first step _again_.

You felt like it was the first time you really looked at him. _It was maybe the first time he really looked at you too._

You took a step and closed the gap between you to kiss him back. Your action had been as quick as his some seconds earlier, but he responded directly and his hands flew on your back, pressing you into him. It was hungry; each of you was fighting to gain the upper hand, tasting each other. One of your hands tangled in his hair; you tugged slightly and it elicited a moan from him.

The vibration of his moan resonated in your body; one of his hands that was on your back slowly descended when-

You quickly broke apart and you nearly jumped a meter away from him as the front door opened.

“Brian, I swear if I step in a cow’s shit with my bright new pair of shoes…”

Freddie entered and Brian turned to close the door; each of them was carrying a plastic bag and talking about something you didn’t get, but they stopped as they saw Roger and you standing between the kitchen and living room.

Brian frowned: Roger’s shirt was nearly completely out of his jeans, his collar loose around his neck and undone; his hair seemed messier than usual, a wet patch on his cheek, and – he blinked – and there were white fucking traces on the wall. Like him, you were a bit out of breath, your t-shirt moved to the side and showing one of your shoulders.

He blinked to the scene in front of him: “Did you fight?”

Freddie was holding back his laugh biting his bottom lip, and gathered his forces to mimic his friend’s worried expression. He added: “Darlings look at you, you seem all worked up…”

Roger coughed and you tried: “We… Yes. We fought. About dinner.”

He carried on: “Yes. y/n was telling me that to make hard-boiled eggs, the eggs had to boil during six minutes…”

“Nine.”

“Nine! Nine. Nine minutes.”

Brian nodded, apparently believing you, but Freddie’s gaze alternated between both of you and he started to have a hard time containing himself.

You were saved by Paul – _for once you could say that_ – who burst in the room, clapping in his hands. “So! What do we eat?”

-

“Do you need something, Freddie?”

Roger rolled his eyes to Paul’s tone and you clenched your jaw at the only fact that he opened his mouth. The singer lifted his eyebrow but said: “Yes, just grab the bottle of wine on the counter, dear.”

The assistant strongly nodded as he got up like he was on springs, happy to serve Fred. At your side, Brian reacted to Paul just now; as he was facing him and couldn’t really do it as he was sitting.

“So, I was saying. We should decide what we’ll sing at the theatre.”

He was placed at the end of the table, having the perfect spot to speak to his assembly. Brian and Paul were next to him, you next to Brian and Roger in front of you; the fact that he and Paul were next to each other met the miracle.

The assistant sat back, poured wine into Freddie’s glass and put the bottle back on the table, without proposing any of you, of course.

“I was thinking about _Keep Yourself Alive_ , _Killer Queen_ and maybe one track of the next album.”

You cut your meat and approached the fork from your mouth but darted your eyes on Roger as you stopped your movement. He had extended his leg, putting it against yours. He wasn’t looking at you though, but at Freddie talking.

You had all spent the end of the morning and the whole afternoon in the barn to record, and it kept your minds quite busy, but you couldn’t lie you forgot about your morning _interaction_. You couldn’t help but throwing him side looks while he was behind his drumkit, and wondered if the looks you felt at the back of your head were real, or just your brain playing with you.

One thing was sure; the kisses worked you up a lot more than you wanted to admit – and something told you he did too. Your breath got caught in your chest when you thought about him moaning into the kiss, his legs currently touching yours reviving the memory.

“I know we haven’t repeated anything yet, but it can be good advertising.”

Well, you could have thought he had moved his leg by mistake.

Not anymore; he moved it against you in a way it couldn’t be unwanted, nearly _gently_ caressing your leg.

Brian answered: “Yes, but which one? _Your thing_ is not completely finalized, and the others are quite hard to perform on stage. I mean… We did the kazoos with our mouths. How do you want to do that on stage while we play our actual instruments?”

You don’t know why, but you decided to play too. You extended your leg and put your foot on the chair between his legs, the coldness of the surface traversing your sock and making goosebumps rise all along your leg. He couldn’t hide anything anymore and looked at you, even if you weren’t really touching him.

Freddie patted at Brian’s arm: “Darling. _We_ made the kazoos with our mouths. Let me remind you you stayed on the other side of the window as we recorded it, judging us.”

You advanced your foot further towards his crotch; god you didn’t know where this confidence came from but his face was priceless. His cheeks slightly turned red, but something lit in his eyes.

“Isn’t it, Roger?”

Freddie glanced at the drummer, looking for support; the blond stuttered and let a hashed “Yes, sure.”

He frowned, but you were saved – _god, once again?_ – by Paul, who started to get uncomfortable as he hadn’t had Freddie’s attention for two minutes now: “You could do _Love of My Life_! I love this song.”

As he was turned to Freddie, there were little chances Paul would see it, so you didn’t stop yourself from doing what you had in mind; you slid your foot on his thigh to his crotch, slowly pressing into it.

You grinned as you saw his Adam apple bobble in his throat.

Freddie swiped his proposition with a movement of the hand: “No, there won’t be any piano there.” He got a saddened “Oh…” from Paul, and yawned loudly. He clapped: “People, I’m going to sleep.” Of course, Paul went to get up too and Brian said: “Me too. Oh, Roger, would you mind coming? I have something to ask you about a line…”

“It can’t wait tomorrow?”

Everyone stopped as Roger spat that out a bit aggressively. Freddie cocked an eyebrow; “Rog, your room’s next to his. Can’t it be now?”

“Y-Yes. Sorry Brian.”

Brian didn’t say anything and everyone got up, heading to their respective spots.


	6. Chapter 6

[This part includes sexual content]

You winced as a spring pushed on your ribs. You were pestering silently against the couch and turned on your back out of anger, making a pillow fall on the floor, the springs squealing and the legs of the couch cracking threateningly.

“Fuck.”

Would you be able to spend one single decent night of sleep here?

Your stomach suddenly made noise in the silence of the room; you put your hand on it.

You hadn’t eaten that much this evening; you had never eaten a shoe sole, but you were quite sure its taste was close to the piece of meat Paul cooked for you, so all you ate were the trimmings, eatable. Plus, your attention had been dragged somewhere else at a moment… You thought about today. He kissed you. _Damn._ And you responded.

Why?

Weren’t you supposed to hate each other?

You remembered the taste of his lips, the scent of his hair, his grip on your waist-

You got up and went to the kitchen, the cold tiles below your feet making you shiver and put your ideas back in your mind.

You opened the fridge and eyed what was inside. A silver box was shining below the light and attracted your attention; you hummed as your stomach screamed. Who could have said sardines would be an attractive midnight meal someday in your life?

You grabbed it and closed de door, as you started opening drawers; no can-opener in sight. You swore, but had resignation; nothing would prevent you to eat.

You took a knife, making the blade reflect the outside light. _Yeah, it should be good._ You tucked it at a side, pushed, pushed and…

“For god’s…”

What had to happen happened; the knife had ripped and skinned your middle finger of the hand that was holding the box. Your first reflex was to clamp your other on it, holding your finger for dear life to make it stop bleeding.

The box and the knife fell in a resounding noise on the tiles, but you didn’t hear it as all your senses were focused on the astounding pain you were feeling right now.

So of course, you didn’t hear Roger come in the kitchen.

“You okay?”

You turned and jumped, your eyes shooting open.

He was against the light; you couldn’t see his features; only his messy hair drawing a blond halo around his head.

You wanted to answer, but the pain had disoriented you, feeling your heart beating in your finger.

He took a step towards you and put his hand around your wrist, as you were still holding your finger in your hand flush against your chest.

You hissed at his movement: “You’re a doctor now?”

He shrugged: “Well, I have a bachelor in Biology, so I can at least tell you what you shouldn’t put on the wound so you don’t die.” He laughed at his pun, but you just eyed him, not presenting any reaction.

You said eyebrows furrowed: “Just… I don’t know, Brian has certainly band-aids or something.”

He quickly answered: “I do too! But before, you should rinse the wound to eliminate some bacteria’s.”

He now took your arm and you let him unfold it and drag you to the sink.

He gasped as he saw your finger; the cut ran all along it.

He quickly eyed you and made the water fall on it; you hissed, the cold attacking the wound a bit but soothing it in a way.

He went closer to your hand and nodded: “It’s okay, it’s not that deep. But it bleeds a lot, it’s a bit spectacular. At least we won’t have to cut the finger.”

He turned to you, a proud grin on his face; you weren’t in the mood, but laughed nonetheless and his face lightened a bit. He turned back and stopped the stream; “Alright, I have band-aids and disinfectant in my luggage.”

You nodded and followed him.

The journey to his room was in silence to not wake up the boys.

He let you enter before closing the door, having to brush against your body to pass to the corner of the room where his bag laid. “Y-You can sit on the bed.”

You hummed and sat on the edge, looking at him take his stuff. He went back to you and knelt in front of you.

“So! Show me that.”

You presented him your hurt middle-finger, grinning. “Oh, very smart.” He cocked an eyebrow and took the disinfectant to put some on the wound and you swore. “Damn it, Roger… I know you don’t want me to play with you, but please.”

You had said that with humour through your hiss of pain, and he shrugged.

He unfolded the band and cautiously wrapped your finger in it, his light touch soliciting your nerves endings in a bad way. “Oh look, you’ve got blood on your hand.”

You lowered your gaze on your other hand that held your fingers some minutes ago; your palm was all red. “Shit, I’m going to the bathroom to-”

“No, wait let me take a wet towel.”

You huffed: “Roger, I can walk, it’s my finger that’s injured.”

He rose to his feet and made the “calm down” movement with his hands then vanished to the bathroom. You mechanically got up, not knowing if it was a good idea to stay here or no. Your choice hadn’t been made yet when he came back and gauged your standing form.

“Are you alright?”

Due to the narrow space, he was nearly flush against you, your noses nearly touching and the natural light enlightening the half of your faces only. You hummed and nodded. “Thanks for healing me.” The sentence was a little bit too kind for you and you added: “After being a bitch with me lately, it was the least you could do.”

You had wanted that to come out on a bitchy – whispered – tone but it came out weakly as the atmosphere got thick due to your closeness. He cocked an eyebrow: “How come? You’ll have to deal with me if you want to stay in this band.”

You hissed, mindlessly going closer to him: “Don’t worry, I found a way to deal with your attitude, apparently.” He raised eyebrows as he didn’t get the reference, so you pressed yourself into him, your thigh applying slight pressure on his crotch. He gasped, but you didn’t do anything else, gauging his face in the dim light to notice any reluctant expression.

He didn’t show any and grabbed your face to press his lips on yours.

Your hands went in his hair – hissing a bit when your finger brushed his scalp – and you deepened the kiss; his hands flew on your back, roaming it. You made a step back and the back of your knees touched the bed; by a little push, he made both of you fall on the hard mattress. You opened your mouth to make a remark about it when he dove in your neck to kiss and suck here and there. He ascended and went at the level of your ear: “You don’t know how much I want you since the very first day I laid my eyes on you, y/n.”

You grasped at his hair and he let out a breath on your hot skin: “You have a weird way of showing it, Taylor.”

He pulled away and looked at you. “I want to make it up to you.”

His pleading tone spiced with assurance aroused you more than anything, and you scrubbed your legs together to soothe the heat. What didn’t go unnoticed by Roger, who grinned mischievously and slid slowly lower down your body. In a matter of seconds, your clothes were discarded on the floor and your clit twitched under the coldish air of the room as he spread your legs. You propped yourself on your elbows and met his gaze. A silent agreement was done and he passed his thumb on your clit; you breathed.

Not breaking the eye contact, he bent till he was splayed on his belly and licked your slit, his tip coming from your hole to your clit and you bit your lip. Your hands flew on his head and he grinned as you pushed him towards you; he complied and started to eat you out, pushing your thighs to keep your legs opened and ease the access.

You were a bit ashamed you were already so worked up, eager as your hips followed the movements of his chin. Further, you saw him pressing himself into the mattress for relief and you took the opportunity to grab him below the chin and lift his face. “I want you inside me. Now.”

The look he gave you, hair ruffled, lips puffed and chin glistening added to his not-expecting-that expression was worth a lot, and made your heart tighten in your chest. He closed the gap between you and kissed you hard, making your back fall back on the bed. His clothes and your remaining one were quickly thrown on the floor and you circled his hips with your legs. He whispered as he positioned himself at your entrance: “Ready?”

You nodded and your eyes roll back as he slowly entered you. Both of you repressed moans, trying to stay as silent as possible. He started to install a steady pace, rolling his hips into yours, his pelvis rubbing against your clit in a delicious way. Pants filled the room, and you opened your eyes; you saw his face above yours eyebrows furrowed, chasing his high. He planted his eyes in yours and gave a hard thrust of the hips, making you bit your lip to repress a guttural moan as his tip dangerously rubbed your g-spot.

You managed to whisper: “Trying to make me be loud, Taylor?”

He cocked an eyebrow and said, out of breath: “Maybe.”

“Yet the capacity to make me lose my power of speech belongs to you Rog-”

He started an erratic pace all of a sudden and you pinched your lips. His cocky expression soon vanished as it precipitated his high too, and you thanked god the bed hadn’t a headboard to knock at the wall.

“I’m already so close, shit.” You let out a whispered “So soon…” but he heard it and said in your ear, as he bent forward: “Me too. y/n you’re working me up since this afternoon…”

You passed your arms around his neck and turned your face to kiss him. He responded passionately and passed one arm below your back to keep you even closer to him, thrusting hard into you. You pulled away to breathe and opened your mouth to say you were close, but a snap of his hips triggered your orgasm and you gasped, your chest raising into his. He tucked his face in the crook of your neck and you felt at his heavy quick pants and sloppier thrusts he was coming too.

His eventually came to a halt, but didn’t move; your arms tightened around his body, catching your breath.


	7. Chapter 7

[This part includes sexual content.]

You slowly opened your eyes and shifted slightly. You frowned, still in the haze of sleep; as you moved, no spring popped in your ribcage.

You suddenly felt a weight at your side; an arm had just landed on you, circling your middle. You turned: Roger’s face was right behind your head, his breath moving the end of your hair.

Memories of the night flooded your mind.

_Oh, yeah._

You slowly took his wrist between your thumb and index and put it at his side, then passed your legs by the bed and got up. You tiptoed to the bathroom and closed the door slowly. A shiver ran down your spine; you were naked, and the room was quite cold, so you hurriedly entered the shower.

The water started to fall and in some seconds, fog filled the space between the wall and the curtain. You unhooked the showerhead and started to dive in your thoughts. The door opened slowly, but you noticed his presence only when his head popped at the side of the curtain. “Hello ther- Shit!”

Under the surprise, you had turned the showerhead towards him and therefore wettened his whole face. “Roger, what the fuck?” You had mechanically covered your body with your arms and were looking at him expectantly. After wiping his face with his hand, he slightly got back and dragged the curtain in front of his body. “Oh, y/n I’m sorry, I’ll just… Get ou-”

“No wait.”

You eyed him and pointed at his grip; the white plastic showed his torso behind it. You huffed: “Are you naked?”

He opened his mouth and raised eyebrows: “I- Uh, you too.”

“Roger. I’m in the shower.”

He took a breath, wondering if he had done a bad move but you added: “Well, maybe you’re here to take a shower too.”

His doubtful expression vanished to let place to a grin. He opened the curtain and stepped in, coming right in front of you, closing it behind. “You’re right.”

He took the showerhead from your hands and hooked it above you, the water falling on your bodies. He shrugged a bit: “Bloody hell y/n, the water is boiling-”

You cut him by closing the gap between you and kissed him. His hands flew at your sides and took your flush against him; you passed your hand behind him and slightly turned the knob to cool down the water.

You broke apart.

“Better?”

He drew a breath and eyed your face, droplets dripping from your nose. You moved a wet lock from his face and he grabbed your face to kiss you again; your bodies melted into each other under the hot water.

One of his hands went south on your back and he shamelessly grabbed your bum; you laughed into the kiss, what quickly evolved into a light moan as his hardening member brushed your folds. As he saw you were quite responding, he grabbed your leg to hook it above his hip. He started thrusting slowly, his dick brushing your clit; your head fell backwards and mouth open. He lost no time diving into your neck and started to suck at the sweet spot below your ear.

You needed more though; you took him in your hand and after stroking him – what made him groan into your neck – you positioned his tip at your entrance. He slid in and went to a halt when he was completely inside you; you winced at his size as you weren’t that wet due to the lack of foreplay, your walls clenching tight around him. The stinging quickly disappeared and you soon needed more as you felt him throb inside you; you clawed at his shoulders and he got the hint, starting to thrust.

Your bodies started to get slightly red due to the hot water taking your skin; but you didn’t mind. You passed your arms around his neck as his moves got quicker; both of you were breathing heavily, holding your moans to not wake everyone – but luckily your pants were muffled by the waterfall.

His grip tightened on your thigh; he was already close and his eyebrows were furrowed to not try to come too quick.

The thing was; you were too. You passed one of your hands between your bodies to rub at your clit, the sensation making you bit your lip hard as the tip of his dick rubbed your g-spot the perfect way.

“Roger, I’m close.”

He was relieved you were and he started to snap his hips; your mouth opened to let out a moan, quickly muffled by his lips. His thrusts became more erratic and you pressed on your bundle of nerves; in seconds, your orgasm took you, quickly followed by his precipitated by your walls clenching hard around him. He held you close against him as both came down of your highs, panting. You muttered, out of breath: “I hope it’s Paul who will pay the water bill.”

He laughed and got out of you slowly, both hissing.

You decided you would be the first to get out of the room, and after drying you, you suddenly acknowledged you hadn’t taken your clothes with you. Estimating it would be less serious if someone walked to Roger wandering naked in the corridor than you, you put on his t-shirt and discretely slid out.

A clicking noise made you jump as you headed towards the stairs; you turned your face and saw Brian’s doorknob turn.

_Shit!_

You jumped and went down, tugging at the t-shirt that arrived at the middle of your thighs. _Well, better than nothing else, eh._

When you entered the kitchen, Freddie was sat at the table, sipping his tea and listening to Paul rambling about uninteresting things as he was preparing breakfast. The singer quickly glanced at you – more the t-shirt you wore that he of course recognised – as you slid next to him at the table. Brian arrived not five seconds after and sat down too, dishevelled and still sleepy. He grunted: “I don’t know what Rog’s doing, I feel like he’s in the shower for hours. I’ve been hearing the water for an eternity, really.”

You thanked his puffy-eyes and dazzled expression due to the sun aiming at him by the window he didn’t notice your wet just-out-of-the-shower hair.

Freddie opened his mouth to answer when the drummer entered the room too, taking place in front of you next to Brian. This one threw him a look, but all remark got cut by Paul placing Freddie’s plate in front of him, praising him, as always. Roger talked, more to make the assistant shut it than anything else – what made him throw the blond an offended look: “I thought we could record _I’m in Love With My Car_ tomorrow.”

Brian, already in an apparent bad mood, rolled his eyes and looked at you, hoping you would back him up and snap.

You didn’t and shrugged: “Why not. We haven’t much left to record, anyway.” Both of you exchanged a look before quickly looking somewhere else, Freddie hiding his grin in his cup. The guitarist let his jaw drop.

“S-Since when both of you agree, first of all?”

It was too much for him; Freddie burst out and said, still huffing: “I guess sharing a shower does make people see things differently, innit?”

Brian frowned, not getting it at first, but his features relaxed as the realisation hit him, and Paul looked at you, suddenly interested in the conversation. Your face heated hard, and Roger’s breath got caught in his throat, eyes widening at Freddie. The singer clapped in his hands: “Anyway, we’ve got rehearsals to make.” He pointed at you: “Darling, I agree that this t-shirt suit you better than Rog, but I don’t think it will be easy to perform with this.”

-

As you had started to work not really early in the morning, the day passed quickly and in a battling of the eye you were already in the early evening when you stopped your daily recording sessions that looked more like rehearsals before a show than anything else. You decided to have a shower before leaving, this morning’s one hadn’t really been _cleaning_ , and headed towards the stairs. You started going down but stopped halfway as you pricked up your ear.

You frowned. _Was that a woman’s voice?_

“I don’t know what to say, Roger…”

Well, _that_ was not a woman’s voice, but Freddie, apparently pissed. You shrugged. What was happening again?

“Don’t listen to her, Fred.”

“And y/n? God damn it, you can’t help yourself…”

You took a breath, all smile gone from your face.

You finished the steps the most silently possible, still listening.

“What? Roger baby, what is he saying?”

You gulped as you heard the woman again. Two more steps.

Roger huffed: “How did you find me anyway?”

One more step.

“Baby, I contacted your assistant.”

You swore you guessed him rolling his eyes.

Only the wall between the corridor and the living room separated you.

Freddie cleared his throat: “Lady, you’re charming, but we’re busy here. Plus we have to leave in an hour for the theatre.”

You passed the doorstep.

Freddie was leaning against the table, pinching the bridge of his nose, head bent and eyes closed. Roger was back at you, a blond girl at his side.

Her tight short was showing her long legs and her crop top not hiding very much of her body. She passed a hand in her long hair and approached him, putting his arms around his neck, then kissed his cheek, his neck. He didn’t move.

“A theatre? Oh babe, can I come? Remember two weeks ago, in that theatre, when we fu- What?”

She had stopped as she had noticed Freddie’s expression from the corner of her eye. She followed his gaze, turned her head and scanned your figure. “Hey, who’s this chick? You didn’t tell me there would be women here, baby.”

Roger turned his head in a swift motion.

But you didn’t acknowledge his expression.

No need to; you didn’t care.

In three seconds, you reached for the door and left.


	8. Chapter 8

Freddie got out of the wings and waved at the cheering crowd as he was in an arena, making the white, fluid cloth of his sleeves move in the air after him. He winked at the people and took a pride look; but inside, he was worried.

You had vanished now for some hours.

He quickly glanced at his right, where you should be now with your bass.

Ten minutes ago, Brian had joined him in his dressing-room.

“What are we going to do? We could call one of the people we auditioned. I still have-”

“No.” Freddie cut him. “Out of the question someone with no talent play with us. I prefer to play without a bass player than with a shitty musician.” He closed his eyeliner and sighed. “We should force Roger to play drum and bass at the same time. It’s him who put us in the shit like that.”

Brian scoffed. “Yeah, I’d like to see that.”

Freddie turned on the stage as he heard cymbals noises; Roger was installing himself behind the kit, and the singer shot him with his eyes even though he wasn’t looking at him. On his left, Brian put his guitar around him and adjusted his mic.

Freddie grabbed his. “Good evening lovelies! How are you doing tonight?”

People cheered as an answer and he carried on. “I must inform you of something before starting. You know I’m always true with you.” Some people shouted things he couldn’t hear at it. “We will perform tonight without one of our memb-”

“I’m here!”

You jumped on the stage as you passed the strap of your bass on your shoulder. “I’m here.”

As you just arrived in front of your mic, your response was amplified in the disconcerted room. The smile Freddie and Brian gave you were unnameable; a flame lit in the singer’s eyes: “Please, let me introduce you to the fourth queen tonight.”

He came to you and passed his arm around your shoulders. “I want you to make this building tremble under your applause for y/n y/l/n, our bassist!”

You weren’t expecting all this cheering; people were clapping and shouting, some stomping their feet on the ground. You were surprised and just awkwardly waved, your cheeks slightly blushing.

Freddie patted your arm once again before leaving you and going to the centre of the stage. He shouted the title you were going to perform and the three of you started to play, not waiting for Roger to give the measure whatsoever.

The following half-an-hour was complete bliss; you had never played in front of an audience, and what a first time.

Time flew and Freddie sang his last note, the projectors switching off at a sudden. Some seconds passed before the normal lights went on for you to bow. The four of you somehow escaped to the wings, still out of breath.

-

_2 nd of September 1975_

You glanced at your watch and exchanged a look with Brian.

Twenty minutes.

Your appointment with your producer had to start twenty minutes ago, and the lead singer of the _fucking_ band wasn’t there.

The office was drowned in complete silence, the producer tapping his fingers on his desk out of annoyance and eyeing you behind his glasses, Roger sat in a huge chair in front of him, Brian leaning against the wall and you walking back and forth like a lion in a cage.

At a moment, you walked a bit too close to f Roger’s chair and he turned to eye you; you didn’t lift your head and carried on your moves.

You hadn’t talked to each other.

At all.

You had spent some days more at Ridge Farm after the night at the theatre, and you hadn’t addressed a word to each other. Well, the morning after, he had tried to talk to you, but he quickly gave up following the look you threw him.

You were hurt, more than you thought. He had played with you, and you had let him. You didn’t want to admit you blamed yourself too, so you blamed him twice.

The end of the stay had been on a background of tension, but after some time Freddie, Brian and Paul became used to Roger and you taking place as far of each other as you could. Luckily, it hadn’t affected your quality of working.

During all those times, the drummer had worn a saddened face, sometimes throwing glances at you from the other side of the place; but you didn’t see it, as you managed to not look at him at all.

Sad look that he threw you right now too, scratching the velvet of the chair.

Suddenly, the door opened and the lot of you stopped your actions to look at Freddie, sunglasses on, not worried more than that. He greeted you all before sitting on the chair next to Roger, huffing as he removed his jacket, not considering apologizing.

“So! When do we start?”

The producer gave you all looks full of resentment and cleared his throat.

“I listened to the song you want for the LP.” He pointed at the cassette in front of him, and Freddie sat closer to the edge of his chair. “Bloody hell, what is this gibberish?”

Four pairs of eyes shot him.

He pushed back his glasses that were sliding off his nose.

“ _Bohemian Raspberry._ What is this masquerade?”

Freddie clenched his fist and corrected him through gritted teeth.

“Yeah, whatever. But one thing is sure, there is no way this is going on the radio and out as an LP. Do you think this is the kind of thing you sing along in your car with the radio?”

You exchanged a look with Brian. Freddie opened his mouth to argue but the producer cut him: “Speaking about cars.”

He took the cassette and eyed the titles at the back of it.

“ _I’m in Love With My Car_. This could be good enough to figure on-”

He stopped as Freddie got up so fast he nearly knocked the chair over. You rolled your eyes and Brian pinched the bridge of his nose, Roger making his tongue clap proudly against his palate as he threw looks at the singer – discretely, as you had all agreed on which song would figure on the LP. You advanced and went between the chairs, the drummer laying his eyes on you in the process.

“It’s _Bohemian Rhapsody_ or nothing _._ ”

“But it lasts six bloody minutes!”

You pointed at the _Dark Side of The Moon_ album pinned on his wall. “And this?” You huffed. “You’re not even believing in what you’re saying. You’re just afraid.”

He looked at you above his glasses.

“Our song sounds new, original and with balls. It’s a winning bet.” You crossed your arms on your chest. “You’re just scared to go out of your routine. But daring producers don’t.” Freddie joined you and added: “Our song will be broadcasted as an LP; the thing is, it’s either with your name on it, or another.”

The producer eyed both of you, a fight going on inside his head. Brian stood straight and extended his neck to see his face above your shoulder.

After seconds that seemed to last so long, he sighed deeply.

“I swear to you, if it’s a fail…”

“Thank you!” Brian let that go out of his heart and raised his arms, nearly touching the ceiling.

Freddie bent above the desk and patted his shoulders, the man getting back at the sudden gesture and pushing on his glasses.

“You won’t regret this.”

The four of you got out, huge smiles on your faces. In the corridor, Roger lost no time making a step towards you, but Brian suddenly grabbed him and dragged him to the elevators. He pouted, and even if they probably weighed the same, Brian took it by his height.

You frowned and looked at Freddie: “What was that?”

“A plan to drag him away from you while we’re talking.”

“Oh.”

He sniffed: “Yeah. So.”

He planted his gaze into yours.

“y/n, you can’t just not talk to each other till the end of time!” You huffed. He pointed at you: “Because none of us is reconsidering your place in this band.” You couldn’t help but smile and rolled your eyes. “Listen… Okay, I promise to talk to him.” He raised eyebrows. “…and do the first step because he won’t dare to do it himself.”

He nodded: “Here you are! But I have a solution.”

You cocked an eyebrow.

“Honey, in three days. Come to my apartment. It’s my birthday, and you know, fun and all, not a lot of people. It may relax thing.”

You considered some seconds but nodded.

He took you in his arms and held you tight.


	9. Chapter 9

_5 th of September 1975_

You knocked at the door of the apartment, but wondered if they would hear you as the music was already loud. You thought about neighbours, but your wonderings got answered by Freddie opening the door. He took you in his arms and dragged you in. You opened wide eyes: the apartment was rather small, but was heavily decorated and full of people. He bent to say in your ear, for you to hear above the music: “Do as you were home, drinks are in the kitchen. Oh, and if you want to beat Roger’s ass, wait for everyone to be there.” He winked and left you, still at the entrance of the flat. You walked towards the crowd, a bit unease when a blond-haired woman came to you and started to congratulate you about your performance last week before leaving towards the kitchen, telling you to serve yourself too if you wanted.

You turned suddenly as you felt a hand on your shoulder; you smiled when you saw Brian standing in front of you. “I didn’t know Freddie hadn’t the same definition of ‘Not a lot of people’ as I did.” He puffed: “There are a lot of things Freddie hasn’t the same definition as the common of mortals do about.”

You eyed the room once again; the only person you recognized outside the band was Paul, right at Freddie’s ass, as usual.

“Brian! How are you?”

A small man had popped up next to you, tapping on Brian’s shoulder and making his glass’ content threaten to spill everywhere. He didn’t look at you and huffed: “It’s been so long, I need to know what my ex-classmate’s been doing during all those years!”

And sill ignoring you, the man who did half of Brian’s height dragged him in the crowd, the guitarist throwing you worried looks.

And once again, you were alone in the middle of the living room. You decided to go finally grab a drink and headed to the kitchen. You quickly nodded at the young man pouring himself a glass before eyeing the room, looking for one for you. He cleared his throat and eyed you; “Oh, are you y/n y/l/n?”

You looked at him, not answering as you felt it wasn’t really a question. “Hello, I’m Gus Lowe, photographer.” He smiled cheerily and extended his hand, the huge camera hanging around his neck balancing on his chest. You cocked an eyebrow and didn’t shake it; you didn’t get why a _paparazzi_ was there. But he looked very young and more excited to be at a party than anything else. “I saw you perform last week, that was something, eh! It’s good they found you. I can’t wait to work with Freddie and the boys – and you, now – again!”

He was tiptoeing on the tiles, holding his glass between both of his hands tight and you readied yourself to see it explode.

He opened wide eyes: “Oh, let me serve you.” In seconds, he poured you a glass and came to you, his hands shaking slightly; but the very next moment, you don’t know how, he tripped on you don’t what and the beer spilt on your entire front – it couldn’t have splashed more and stained more of the cloth than it did.

The photographer took a bright magenta taint and started to stutter before grabbing a towel hanging there that he dangerously approached to you.

You raised your hands: “Listen Gus, don’t- I think-”

“Oh, sorry I bothered you.”

Both of you turned: Roger was standing there, eyeing the scene, his free hand gripping at the doorframe.

_How convenient._

Gus yelped: “Mister Taylor!” and you rolled your eyes. The drummer stepped towards you, stumbling a bit, as you started to unbutton your shirt; you luckily had a tank top under it. “Wait, let me help you.”

Roger put his empty glass to the side and went to help you out of it but you were quicker and removed your shirt alone. You spat out: “I can remove my clothes alone Roger, thank you.”

He took a grin that made you gulp – and you hated the reaction of your body – as he said: “Ah? I didn’t know that.”

You were fuming, and Gus at your side eyeing you like his favourite rockstars were in front of him didn’t help. By a movement of the arm, you grabbed your half-empty glass and left the kitchen.

Back into the living room, you didn’t pay attention and bumped into Freddie; this one puffed as he saw your face, connecting the dots when he saw Roger coming out some seconds later: “I said wait for me to be there when you would beat his ass.”

You tightened your hand around the glass and said through gritted teeth: “The guts he has to joke around like nothing happened…”

Further, you saw Gus had jumped on Brian, clueless in front of the young guy. “I swear, I just want to rip this bitchy attitude off him…”

“Who?”

You jumped as the blond had popped next to Freddie and you. The singer bit his lips and you hissed: “Always coming at the perfect moment, Roger.”

He emptied his glass at once and shrugged as he swiped his mouth with his sleeve. You frowned as you wondered how many he had already had tonight when he took the same grinning expression he had some minutes ago in the kitchen: “I always come at the perfect moment y/n, you should kn-”

A loud hiccup interrupted him and Freddie huffed: “That was very elegant, Roger.” The drummer didn’t get the sarcasm and laughed, making a strong alcohol smell attack your nostrils. You let out a mocking breath: “Goddamit Roger, have a shower.”

He puffed even louder and people around you turned to watch what was happening. “Showers? Yeah, with y-”

You lost no time grabbing him by the collar and dragging him further, not wanting strangers to witness that any longer. Once in the corridor, you opened the first door and hurried him in the bathroom after closing it. You clasped your hand on the switch and the neon switched on, making you blink as you were used to the living room’s dim light.

Roger stumbled till the toilet and sat, lifting his chin and putting his hand in front of his eyes, his dilated pupils having a hard time with the broad light. You huffed: “Roger, don’t look directly at the light if it blinds you.”

“Oh, yeah…”

He closed his eyes and grasped at the toilet seat between his legs. It was the first time since the start of the night – more since you saw him kiss someone else as you didn’t look at him since – you saw him clearly due to the clear light; his hair was more ruffled than usual, and sweat beaded at his forehead behind his bangs. You saw his Adam apple bobble in his throat and frowned; “Are you alright?”

He clenched his hands on the seat and nodded, but wasn’t really convincing. “Roger, how much did you drink-”

But he hadn’t had the time to answer as he got up, turned, opened the toilet in a swift motion and knelt to empty his mistreated stomach.

You crossed the room and moved his hair from his way with one hand, the other going on his back. You felt his muscles move below it, and his knuckles became white as he was holding the seat. Your heart dropped in your chest.

“I’m going to grab you water-”

“No!”

He passed an arm behind him and grabbed your top. “Stay.”

You obliged and stayed there. Some minutes passed and the silence got broken by him: “I’m sorry. I’ve been a coward; I’ve been mean with you since the very first day because you hit me when I saw you for the first time.” His voice resounding in the toilet gave the confession a particular aspect, but you didn’t laugh. “God, this girl, I don’t even know how she found me back.” He suddenly remembered what she had said: “Oh yeah, that fucking little bitch Paul Prenter. He’s gonna mess with everyone I like.” The sudden anger made his stomach tightened and he took a softer voice. Yours too, but not for the same reason. He slowly turned and sat against the toilet, now able to look at you in the eyes. “But it’s my fault.”

You shook your head: “Roger, you’re drunk, you don’t know what you’re saying.”

Thinking you were about to leave, he nearly yelled: “No! I’m not. Well, a bit, but… I know what I’m saying. I don’t have to have a sober mind to acknowledge that I like you _a lot_.”

You slid on the floor too, his big blue eyes watching you quite anxiously. He added in a weak voice: “You know, if I could right now, I would kiss you hard.”

You gauged his expressions: “Swear to me.”

He straightened a bit and raised his hand: “I swear! You know, we can put your song on the B-side of _Bohemian Rhapsody._ I wouldn’t mind.”

You scoffed and it encouraged him. He took your face between his hands and planted his eyes in yours. “Believe me.”

You sought in his look for something contradictory, and smiled.

“Who would know you’d declare to me on the floor of Freddie’s bathroom next to a toilet, uh?”

He laughed and you grabbed him by the shoulders to put his face into your neck.

You stayed like that some minutes, Roger catching back from being sick, the music pumping in the background. You pressed at his shoulder: “I think we could go back? I feel you’re falling asleep, and… It’s not cool to monopolizing the toilet like that.”

He grumped a bit, but you ended up getting out of the bathroom right when Freddie crossed his corridor, throwing you a “’Hope you cleaned.” before going back into the crowd. You eventually met Brian, Roger and you pressed into each other. The mood was good, till Paul, that you had managed to avoid all along the party, came at your side. The three of you rolled your eyes at the same time, but he stayed and eyed you, then Roger: “I see you’re not really truthful, Roger.”

The drummer straightened next to you, letting a “Ah?” escape his clenched jaw. Paul frowned and feigned a worried expression: “I thought your girlfriend had come the other day? She missed you. She’s not there tonight?”

Roger became red of anger and Paul couldn’t suppress the little grin to curl his lips, but it was short-lived.

You moved to the side, made a step and with amazing aiming skills, punched him hard in the nose.

Gasps rose from people’s throats next to you and he collapsed on the floor holding his face and yelled like a child. Freddie ran to you and watched the scene then Brian, who didn’t move. Roger grinned and crouched next to him.

“My girlfriend’s there tonight Paul. And she just punched you in the face.”

-

_26 th of November 1975_

You all got out of the office, laughing and cheering, making workers turn to you and frown. Roger grabbed your hand as Freddie called the elevator. “So! What are we going to do? We’re the number ones of Great Britain, we must celebrate.”

“Hmm, we could plan shows, we could-”

Freddie huffed: “Brian, I meant now. I propose to drink till we forget who we are!”

He entered the first when the doors opened and the three of you followed. You tightened Roger’s hand and said: “I can’t believe we made it.” You eyed the boys: each of you had smiles going from your right ear to your left, and a hot, so sweet energy made your four stomachs tingle. Roger shouted: “Long live the Queen!” Freddie cheered and started jumping. He passed his arms around Brian and Roger’s shoulders, dragging them with him, and as Roger was still holding you, you passed your arm around Brian’s shoulders too and the four of you started jumping, shouting nonsense and laughing.

Suddenly, the elevator jumped and stopped, and you stumbled slightly.

You stopped and raised your eyebrows, eyeing the others. “What was that?”

Roger opened his mouth and closed it right away, as he didn’t dare to answer. The doors didn’t open as you had arrived at a certain floor, and weren’t starting again.

You exchanged a look with Roger.

Freddie sighed loudly and laid against the wall, as he watched the ceiling.

Brian suddenly understood what you all had been thinking about for several seconds now and gasped, putting his hands on his cheeks. “Oh my god. We’re stuck.”

You breathed: “Thank you for your far-seeing, Brian.” Roger shrugged.

Freddie spoke: “Yep. We’re number one in the country, and we’re going to die stuck in an elevator.”

_Fin._


End file.
